


Crimson Tears

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Series: Dark Drabbles [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Major character death - Freeform, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 13:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Hermione is Lord Voldemort High Priest to Salazar Slytherin's little rule.Human Sacrifice.





	Crimson Tears

It had been 5 years since she’d been brought as cattle to be a slave to High Priest Voldemort, the chosen heir to Salazar’s throne due to their affinity with serpents.

Orange light glinted off the malicious blood-stained knife, dripping crimson tears on the floor, used for sacrifices to the sun god Ra. She had grown from awkward child to comely maid in the past five years.

He tilted his elegant head to the side, “You're shocked, yes, to see me at work; wondering why I called you here?”

The girl's eyes flittered over towards the blood-soaked stone tablet, “My Lord, I follow orders.”

“Extremely well too,” High Priest Voldemort purred, “you don’t have to concentrate so hard.”

“No?” He stepped up behind her watching her carefully as she poured water in a silver ewer for him to clean all blood stains off his arms, large hands were on her shoulders causing her to jump from the excitement that his touch always held. “You’re a hard worker,” he purred as he swept aside her dark, Grecian curls, “Let me distract you.”

A sigh emanated from deep within her at the feel of his lips on her neck, “You always distract me, my Lord,” she purred.

“As do you,” he whispered, “and that is why I must do this!” Coolly he swept up the cruel sword and sliced her head off her shoulders, “nothing personal but I cannot have a slave for a bride.”

He didn’t stop to see the blood trickle down into the Nile river below. Neither had he heard the whisper in the wind of how his line would end, one day, at the hands of an orphan boy.

The whispers picked up centuries later by a seer by the name of Sybil Trelawney. 

 


End file.
